Ande'thoras ethil
by Firesblood
Summary: After losing her mate and three dearest friends in battle, a heartbroken Druid must learn to cope with her grieving spirit and heal her rapidly-unraveling life, with the help of a reclusive Hunter. Rated M for later chapters.
1. And So My Heart Burns

_Summery: After losing her mate and three dearest friends in battle, a heartbroken Druid must learn to cope with her grieving spirit and heal her rapidly-unraveling life, with the help of a reclusive Hunter. As tensions mount between the Horde and the Alliance, and new plots make themselves known to both, will they succeed, or will the weight of their burdens be too much to bear?_

**Chapter 1**

**And So My Heart Burns... **

The smell of burning flesh wreaked havoc on her sensitive nostrils, but it was the knowing that truly unraveled her sanity. Upon a crude pyre, surrounded by two Orcs, a Blood Elf, a Tauren, and a Troll, all relaxed and cooking their evening meal without a care as to the extra seasoning their meal would have, burned her three closest friends and her lover, Trysal. The glassy eyed stare of the last met the druid's without the usual loving, mellow golden light that they had held only two hours before as his fingers stroked through her long hair. His last words before the group of Horde had attacked was that she worried too much, that everything would be as it should be.

But Saeberia had a difficult time believing that this was as it should be. He should not be burning, nor should Rhys, Isidon, or Bantal. She should not be alive still, at the very least burning with them, if asking for their lives back was too much.

They had fought well and hard, but the group of enemies they came against had fought harder, were stronger than anything they had dealt with before. Having never met a foe that they could not beat, it had been a rude awakening from the moment the first had fallen; the priest, Rhys. She had taken several wounds from the arcane fire that flew so effortlessly from the Blood Elf's hands, her white silk armor scorched and her hood askew, the fatal blow coming from a half-molten stone of hale, which crashed mercilessly into her skull. Bantal, seeing his sister collapse to the ground, had run to her, the Paladin trying to revive the tiny Draenei female, only to find himself impaled upon one of the Orc's swords. Next Isidon, felled by the arrows sent his way after killing the Troll's black feline. And Trysal…sweet Trysal who had loved her for so many years, and so unconditionally…He had looked at her then, and told her to run, to get away.

Saeberia had never run from a battle; rather, she had always stayed to the end to finish, even if she knew that there was no chance in making it out. His urgency almost made her do it, but it was the look in the eyes of the Orc Warrior that set her feet to moving. If she didn't run, she would meet death, not until they were tired of her, and she did not relish the thought of becoming the plaything to the murderers of her nomadic family. He had screamed at her to run and so she did, her lithe form changing to that of the spotted, golden leopard as she dashed away.

Trysal's pained scream had met her ears, echoing there like a curse that was doomed to repeat over and over again. She stumbled, losing her footing, and crashed into the violet-tinged flora, her heavy feline body laying where she had fallen. Her grief overtook her, pathetic mewls of anguish straining past her throat, scattering countless birds to the skies and squirrels and rabbits to their dens in fear. Had she been closer to a road, she was sure that a passerby might have come looking for her to see what had wounded the cat so direly that it was screaming so loudly its displeasure.

She knew she would have to calm herself; no doubt they would be after her to finish the job, and Trysal's life, the way he had turned to protect her retreating form, blocking her from their view, would have been in vain. Eventually she quieted, her breath still coming and leaving in heavy gasps. But nobody found her, nobody followed. She was alone.

She crept back to where the battle had taken place, and there she had been staying, cloaked from sight in the shadows, watching the goings on before her. Hatred boiled within her as she looked at her enemies; they seemed so peaceful, so unaware and uncaring at what they had done. Did they even feel? Did they understand that they had taken everything from her so completely? Of course not. All they had seen was a group of Alliance scum to take care of, more honor for when they returned home to their Elune-forsaken desert city.

Her magic was all but gone, barely recovered from the spells she had been casting earlier. Her rations, the drink that would replenish it, the imbued potion that glowed a soft blue with its energies, all of it was sitting in the torn pack at the Blood Elf's feet, who was currently rifling through it impersonally. His almost feminine, sun-kissed hands brushed over the leather-bound journal that she kept, and she had to stop herself from snarling at the unrepentant invasion to her private thoughts as he busted the lock with the hilt of her own dagger so that he could turn the pages. The Orc that had killed Bantal was putting Trysal's helm on his own head, the chainmail coif sitting lopsided upon his too-large head as he let out a guttural laugh, speaking in his native tongue as he nudged the elf with his elbow. The mage sniffed distastefully at him and went back to the journal, tongue darting out to wet a finger so that the next page turned easier. The Troll was concentrating on his dead pet, hands glowing a brilliant green as he attempted to revive it. The only sign of regret was in the Tauren Shaman, who had collected numerous items that Saeberia recognized from the bodies of her friends to create a crude alter, complete with an incense that the druid recognized was meant to help carry the spirits of the dead to the world beyond. The bovine creature pulled a sort of relic from one of his many pockets, placing it at the center before bowing his head, thick lips murmuring a silent prayer in Taurahe.

It was then that the druid made her choice, when the blood elf's arrogant laughter cut through the otherwise silent wood at something he read, speaking in smooth orcish to the green behemoth next to him. She was going to kill them all, or die trying. It was more likely that she would perish in the attempt, but her fevered rage and her lust to avenge those on the pyre screamed far louder than her common sense. Her ever-present connection to the earth of Azeroth seemed to diminish, as if it couldn't condone such dark emotion in its sister, abandoning her to the fast-closing cloak of revenge and self-annihilation shrouding her mind's eye.

Elune curse her and cast her away, but she couldn't stop herself. It was as if the blood of her father, a Troll that her mother bedded during the time of peace in the wake of the Battle of Mount Hyjal, had taken her over, reducing her to a more primal, grudging creature who could not recognize the merits of simply running the short distance to Astranaar to report the trespass to the Sentinels. Remaining cloaked in the form of a large violet cat, she started forward. The Troll nonchalantly leaned towards his comrades, speaking in a low baritone something that she couldn't understand.

Immediately, the two Orcs and the mage rose, the Tauren still lost in his silent prayers. They drew their weapons and Saeberia cursed herself; the Troll was a hunter, and she had known enough Hunters in her time to know that they could sense animals, whether they be true animals or not. No doubt, he had sensed her watching them the entire time, her element of surprise ruined by her thoughtless, grief-stricken mind. How could she have been so stupid?

Shifting to her natural form, she let out a battle cry, her voice betraying her shattered heart all too obviously. Her staff was in reach; she could see its glowing green length laying alongside the group, forgotten or ignored. Catching it with her foot, she kicked it into the air and rolled, her hands closing around the intricately gilt silver. She swung, bashing the elf in the head soundly, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud. In a second, they would be on her like flies. Raising her arms above her head, her staff perched horizontally in her hands, she called forth the power of storms, clouds forming and swirling over her head, thundering a rage that mirrored her own as it grew. Bolts of lightning struck, bearing down on her enemies as they closed the distance between herself and them, their respective weapons poised to cut her down.

The Orc that killed Ryse was the first to reach her, his mace connecting with her head, knocking her to the ground. The pain was sickening and she nearly retched, too stunned to so much as move out of the way as a sword split through her side, drawing a banshee's scream of agony from her lips. It was better this way, she thought vaguely, feeling the darkness that she associated with death begin to overtake her. Her life as she saw it now, whatever future Elune might have had planned for her, would be nothing without the man that had loved her since they were children despite the glaring resentment she was often met with because of what she was and what she represented. She might not have born any resemblance to her father save for the sharper nose and the slightly more heavily lidded eyes, but word had traveled fast enough; Enayla's tainted bastard, sired by a nameless Darkspear Rogue in the wilds of Feralas. Even as a child she had been viewed with suspicion, until she met Trysal. The two of them had been inseparable.

Tears leaked from the Druid's eyes as she stared once more at her deceased mate, the tiniest of tired smiles quirking her lips. She would be with him soon.

~oO0Oo~

_Author's Note: Just so you know, the phrase _Ande'thoras-ethil_ means 'May your troubles be diminished', in case you were curious. This is my first Warcraft fanfiction, so let me know how you like it! Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy what is to come._


	2. And the Night Still Comes

**Chapter 2**

**And the Night Still Comes**

It had been nearly twenty years since he had returned home, a long time for any Kaldorei to be without the lulling twilight of Teldrassil. Most of his kin returned home regularly, even if it was to simply step upon the springy, sweet smelling earth that lay within the great World Tree for a short while before leaving once more. Their souls were forever tied to their homeland, and while there were several small villages in the twilight areas of Kalimdor, nothing could ever replace the feeling of truly going home.

Andissiel, however, was an oddity among his kind in the sense that he felt neither the longing to revisit, nor the insistent call that Teldrassil oft filled the less jaded. He knew that there were others, some that had simply traveled too far and had seen too much to want to bring the shadows of what they had encountered home with them.

As he settled in next to his fire, he brooded, fingers absently stroking the fur of his Nightsaber. He was prepared to stay in the wilds for the rest of his life, if he were allowed such. There had been a time once where he had been a student, curious, painfully shy and thoughtful, eager to learn as he cleared the way for his future. So many ideas of what it might have been like, all forsaken. He had had friends, he had born the colors of a tight-knit guild, he had even had a female that he was interested in, but alas, Elune had other ideas. Of course, Andissiel wasn't even sure if he believed in _her _anymore, either.

A sound alerted him from his thoughts and he was on his feet in an instant. It was the scream of an animal, a cat he would bet, and it sounded as if it had been wounded badly. Bengal shifted uneasily at his side, her large grey eyes staring off into the distance at something that he couldn't see. Frowning deeply, Andissiel turned and prepared to settle in once more. It was probably someone hunting. Of course, the closest place he knew of for cats was in Darkshore; he had seen bears, wolves, and bucks aplenty in these woods, but not cats. He could have been mistaken, he thought to himself.

Scratching between his pet's ears, he sighed and leaned down, grabbing his bow before starting off in the direction that the cry had originated from. It was somewhat of a fair distance, but Bengal was wandering ahead of him, head ducked and ears back as she prowled through the ferns towards the source.

And when they arrived, there was nothing. Not a spot of blood, nor the creature that had cried out so painfully.

"Well now…" he murmured, feeling distinctly fouler in temperament than he had before. Bengal shifted, her head dipping low to sniff at the ground for a moment before turning her eyes back to him.

_It was here. Animal but…at the same time different. The smell of fear and sadness still lingers._

Andissiel's eyebrow quirked upward. An animal but different? That left a wide range of things open; things that were animal but different. The Laughing Sisters for one. The Naga for another.

At that moment, a grief-stricken voice in Darnassian reached his ears, a battle call. Combined with the rage-driven yell of an Orc, unmistakable to the Hunter, it sent him into a tensed coil, his hands moving to draw an arrow to his bow, Bengal growling low in her throat.

Together, the Night Elf and the cat moved forward towards it, the sound of thunder and lightning mixing with the sounds of battle. He came upon a group of Horde, a female Druid standing in the middle with her arms raised, calling on the wrath of a hurricane. An Orc sent his mace crashing into the side of her skull, effectively cutting off the power she was channeling and sending her spinning to the ground.

Andissiel was torn; she looked dead, and even the Horde seemed to come to the same conclusion. Dead, or knocked out; he wasn't sure. The stench of burning flesh called his attention and he looked at the fire, a feeling of horror drawing a gasp from between his lips at the sight of charred bodies, a long pointed ear sticking out obviously from the flames. Rage filled him as he looked back at the Orc that had dealt the blow, watching with an sickened stomach as it reached down to caress the elf's neck, laughing. He could hear him say something; his knowledge of Orcish rather hit and miss, though he caught enough of it to make his grip on the bow tighten.

The druid still lived. The Orc's massive hand moved leisurely over her leather-clad chest and down to the female's exposed belly in an unmistakable way, and Andissiel decided that he had had more than enough, even as the monster yanked her up, her head lolling onto her chest as he threw her over his broad shoulder, and patted her backside appreciatively while he grinned at his friends.

He imbued the arrow with magic and let it fly. It buried itself in the center of the Orc's forehead, and he fell over. Those that were left were in a sudden uproar, going for their weapons, but Bengal was already attacking, and Andissiel was already notching another arrow. Before long, between his pet's deadly claws and his true aim, the bodies of the Horde lay scattered around, unmoving. He entered the circle of the fire, kicking aside the dead Orc roughly before kneeling down, fingers finding the pulse in the female's neck. When he felt the slow, weak thump against his fingers, he nodded once, slipping his arms beneath her. He cradled her close as he turned his back from the grotesque scene and headed for his own camp, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing. He could simply bandage her and hope it enough when she came to. What he was doing now was letting unnecessary trouble into his already troubled, but nonetheless peaceful life.

But he couldn't just leave her there. If the scene he had deduced was correct, it seemed that her entire party had been killed and burned, leaving only her and her sense of vengeance, or suicide, whichever the case might be. Suicide seemed more likely, as even he knew that without the element of surprise or the ability to cloak oneself from the enemies' sight like himself, the battle would have been a desperate loss.

He lay her gently on the ground by the fire, sitting back a moment to stare. Heavily lidded eyes, aquiline nose, full lips, skin that couldn't seem to make up its mind about whether it was more of a lavender shade or a jade, strangely exotic even to a night elf, especially since her eyebrows were about as prominent as a human woman's were. Her hair was a tumbling violet-blue color, the braid it had been gathered into at the base of her neck partially undone. Her armor was in need of being repaired, and he could see the faded, thin thread in places where it had already been repaired previously.

Bengal sniffed at the unconscious elf, nudging her gently with her wet nose.

_See? Animal, but at the same time different._ she said indignantly, sitting back on her haunches.

Andissiel rolled his eyes and pulled out a number of bandages, using one of his canteens to clean out the wounds before applying them. The female didn't move throughout his crude doctoring. She looked nearly like a mummy after he was finished, but he could already sense the magic working on her, healing the wounds she received. The one on her head would be the worst, he thought to himself, staring at the violet stain on the runecloth. She could wake up without her mind intact, if she woke up at all. The last thing he needed was an amnesiac woman on his hands; he resolved to dump her in Astranaar if that were the case.

_She smells like a woodier version of the blue-skinned tusk-man back there. The other Hunter_. Bengal commented, rough tongue briefly curling out to brush over his arm. He made a small noise of protest in the back of his throat, wiping the saliva from himself before shrugging.

"Doesn't matter. She's not our problem after this." He told the feline. Bengal sniffed and settled down on the ground, rolling onto her back for a moment before coming to rest on her side, her skepticism evident, and he almost resented his loyal pet for it.

He relaxed into a more comfortable position, luminescent amber eyes watching the female for any sign of movement before falling into a light sleep.

~oO0Oo~

The air was thick with moisture, the briny scent of the ocean outside the world tree mingling with the smells of the wooded area around her. She was a child again, running in and out of the open inn while her mother sold her wares. Blue-violet hair was kept short, her slender ears poking out from the leaf-strewn mess atop her head, and her small dress was showing it's wear. Enayla was grinning at a blue-haired elf, her hip jutting out as she shifted her weight, basket tucked securely under her arm. Her mother had once been a respected woman before she made the mistake of laying with that Troll rogue. She had been one of the best Rangers in Azeroth, but motherhood had softened her so much that nobody recognized her immediately when they stood with her.

Saeberia sniffed as she watched, not liking the way the man lightly brushed her mother's hand, or the way her mother seemed so coy with him.

Toying with the small wooden-leather pendant around her neck, the only thing she had of her father, she turned away, frowning in displeasure. They were in Dolanaar today. There, sitting on the carven rail of wood where the druids nested, was another blue haired male, but this one was considerably younger, perhaps only ten years older than she herself was by the slightly older look to him. He smiled at her and she flushed, the tips of her ears darkening momentarily as she looked away.

The man that had been speaking with her mother eventually took her as a mate, and her mother bore two more daughters. The boy on the rail, well he was the one that found her in Darnassus and held her hand. He was the man who curled so protectively around her body when they slept. He was the man who had promised that no matter what happened, they would always be together. He was the man on the fire, staring at her with dead, lightless eyes.

Flashes of memories and nightmares flickered past Saeberia's eyes, burning themselves deeply into her mind. Her body was burning too, she could almost swear it. There was so much pain, especially in her head, and all she could think of was that Trysal had been right; not even death could keep them apart. She waited patiently, abiding the pain for as long as it took until he appeared, but he never came.

When she finally opened her eyes, she was shivering from cold and covered nearly head to toe in bandages. She could see stars through the leafy canopy above her and she bit back an anguished cry; she could not even succeed in dying properly.

There was a rustle at her head and she jumped, pain lancing through her body as she did it. A sickened groan elicited from her and she closed her eyes, trying to overcome the urge to turn her head and simply vomit on the ground next to her. When it passed, she opened her eyes and was met by a pair of pale grey orbs, staring at her seriously from the face of a nightsaber.

The creature moved, laying closely to the Druid, her teeth closing on her cloak and tugging, insistent that the female move backwards a little. Saeberia did so, painstakingly moving back until her head and shoulders were propped against the feline's soft belly. The cat shifted, curing herself a little tighter, her massive head tucking itself under the Druid's chin. It was trying to keep her warm. Despite the odd situation, Saeberia felt nearly overwhelmed gratitude at its actions. She hadn't yet noticed the Hunter on the other side of the dead fire, or the fact that despite the fact he looked asleep, inside he was cursing the feline for her brazen care. He was almost tempted to tell Bengal to make sure she didn't name the night elf female, or there would be no getting rid of her.

The Druid was out within mere seconds, her breathing slow and regular. Andissial scowled lightly, a quiet voice in the back of his mind whispering how bad it was that his cat, barely more than a wild animal, felt more compassion for the female than himself. Maybe the voice was right, but the Hunter had no intention of letting another woman get the better of him.

---

_Author's Note: To give credit where it is due, Andissiel is loosely based on my friend's toon. His basic temperament is the same, but I've embellished quite a bit of it. Hope you enjoyed chapter 2! Don't forget to let me know how I'm doing._


End file.
